


Male Bonding

by JosieMarieVivianWilkins



Series: Gaggle of Gallavich [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Flirting, Knife Throwing, M/M, Mickey is a baby gay and knows nothing yet, Texting, Throwing Knives, Virgin Mickey, Waiter Ian, blowjob, north side mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieMarieVivianWilkins/pseuds/JosieMarieVivianWilkins
Summary: Terry tries to bond with Mickey, getting him in to activities that he thinks will make his son 'more manly'.Picture prompt.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Gaggle of Gallavich [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789267
Comments: 2
Kudos: 159





	Male Bonding

**Author's Note:**

> Picture prompt from Jools10 on Tumblr. She literally said the picture was the only specification she had, and damn it that gave me so much creative reign that what should have been a 1.6k-word fic ended up being 6.6k words long.
> 
> I enjoyed writing this though, I actually kind fo like North Side Mickey.
> 
> Let me know what you thought and hit my Tumblr up to send prompts etc - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume

Mickey Milkovich was a North Side kid with a way of playing with his G.I. Joe dolls with his sister that concerned his father to no end.

Terry Milkovich was a very successful stockbroker who found his son’s behaviour through to adolescence uncomfortable and unconventional.

When Mickey was thirteen, Terry began trying to instil more masculine behaviours in to his youngest son. It had started with clay shooting in their expansive backyard, something that the young boy had initially been wary of, but when Mandy had come to join in and made it more of a game and less of a conditioning session, he had allowed himself to relax in to the sport and begin to enjoy it a little more.

The head of the Milkovich household had soon seen fit to introduce a new sport to Mickey’s repertoire of ‘manly activities’ when he had caught his son fussing far too much over his hair one morning. He had poked his head in to the bathroom to remind his son that they would be leaving for school in ten minutes, and had received a growl and whispered ‘ _fuck_ ' as the boy had gripped at his dark locks in frustration.

The latest activity was fox hunting, and it was one Terry held his breath over, thinking the visual trauma from it all may be the turning point. He had been pleasantly surprised when his son had asked when they were not doing it. But Terry was unaware of Mickey’s motives behind wanting to go again. If the older man understood that his son had managed to find a way to incorrectly ride his horse in such a way that he had a persistent and pleasant thrusting pain in his behind, Terry’s already-grey hair may have fallen out.

For Mickey’s eighteenth birthday, he had been presented with a simple, matte, black box that held a pair of knives. A brow cocked and a look of confusion buried behind those piercing blue eyes, he had simply asked his father “Eh?” It hadn’t been a question so much as a grunt, and that usually would have earned the uncertain boy a few stern words; Terry’s excitement allowed the grunt to be brushed away and a knowing smile to spread across his lips.

“Throwing knives, my boy. Stephen from the country club suggested it after his lad had been so excited to receive them.” Terry grinned, “So, what do you think? I spoke to the club manager and he said that he has a member of staff who is well-versed in throwing knives and would be happy to show us.”

Mickey turned to meet his sister’s eyes, which held the same question as his own: _why the fuck would you be well-versed in throwing knives?_

“Yeah, dad… that would be great.” Mickey took a moment to feign interest in the knives and admire them before continuing, “They’re great. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like them,” the silver-haired man gave his son a beaming smile and a clap on the back. “Hopefully your party at the club this evening will also add to good gifts.” There was a glint in the father’s eyes as he smiled down at his son was full of excitement and glee.

*** * ***

Standing uncomfortably in his tuxedo, Mickey watched as his father schmoozed with his friends at the country club, leaving him and Mandy to stand about at the table that held an array of hors d’oeuvres. The birthday boy felt like he had scarfed down half of the ocean by way of crab cakes, shrimp cocktail, and salmon blinis, quite sure that he would burp saltwater.

“Get her down,” Mandy chirped after taking a couple of glasses of champagne from one of the walking waiters that carried a platter of the over-priced alcohol, promptly shoving one in to her older brother’s hands. The pair grinned at one another before knocking the drinks back and exchanging knowing looks. “Get wasted and then stoned enough to not care about his freaking hobnobbing?”

“Happy birthday, me!” Mickey grinned before flagging another platter-carrying waiter down with a tap on the shoulder before he could pass them. Mickey was almost sure that his ability to breathe had been compromised. The waiter that turned to look at him was tall with ravishing red hair and plump, pink lips. His green eyes were a crazy contrast in comparison to his hair, but the kid worked it. He looked purely delicious in his shirt and fitted waistcoat, and Mickey was sure he looked equally as tasty beneath it.

“Are you guys even old enough to drink?” The waiter asked, an eyebrow raised curiously as his lips pulled up in to a challenging smirk on one side.

Seriously? That kid couldn’t even be older than Mickey was. Sure, the kid was tall, and his shoulders were broad enough to suggest a mature body, but the generous smattering of freckles and doe-like eyes gave away his youth.

“Sasquatch, you don’t even look old enough to have a job, let alone serve us,” Mandy retorted before her brother could get a word in.

Mickey knocked his arm against Mandy’s playfully, “Yeah, doesn’t even look old enough to rub one out.” He laughed as he maintained eye contact with the waiter.

The waiter reached up to take two flutes of champagne for the guests, handing them to Mickey as he spoke, “Why would I need to when I have guys queuing to do it for me?” He sent Mickey a flirty wink before walking away with a smug smile.

“Holy shit…” Mickey was still for a moment before immediately draining the two glasses he held, much to the disapproval of his sister. “I wanna’ tap that _so_ bad!”

Mandy simply nodded in agreement and mumbled out a small “Ditto.”

The Milkovich siblings spent much of the evening avoiding their father and working through the fizz that circulated the room. As Terry Milkovich and his acquaintances became more inebriated, the laughter in the room became louder and more rambunctious, providing ample cover for the brother and sister to slip away unnoticed. Mandy led the way, telling Mickey about where one of the barmen she had once hooked up with had shown her the best place to smoke.

They skirted past the tennis courts and down past a row of storage sheds that sat against the high walls of the country club’s main building. Just past the sheds, Mandy ushered Mickey towards a ladder chute that was fixed to the side of the wall and gestured for him to go first ( _“Why me?” “I’m wearing a dress, asshole!”_ ). At the top, they sat themselves on the flat roof to look out over the club’s grounds to see the lights of the city sparkling against the horizon and fading in to the darkness of the night sky that was adorned by twinkling stars and a milky full moon.

“Fucking beautiful view, eh?”

Both Milkoviches felt their hearts in their throats as they whipped their heads round to the owner of the voice; “Jesus, bitch!” Mickey had hissed as Mandy’s hair had whipped at his face. They were met by the promiscuous-seeming redheaded waiter. He lay back on the roof, perched up only on one elbow as he stared at the two members who looked like children caught dipping in to the cookie jar.

“Not too bad from where we’re sitting,” Mandy quipped, clucking her tongue at the staff member who pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and fumble through his pockets for a lighter.

“Completely gay, honey,” he mumbled through the cigarette clasped tightly between his lips as his lighter sent a spark of life in to the air briefly. “So, how’d you know about this place?”

“Andre from the lounge bar. We hooked up a couple times,” Mandy provided with a shrug before she peeked in to her purse and produced a small rolling tin that homed an expensive strain of weed, tobacco, and other necessary paraphernalia for Mickey to conjure up the perfect joint. When her brother didn’t move, his eyes transfixed on the taller boy that lay away from them, she cleared her throat and shoved the tin towards him with a sharp clearing of her throat. Still no movement. “Bitch, roll that shit before I roll your ass off the roof!” A sharp punch to his stomach had Mickey tearing his eyes away and bending in to a cough.

“Fucking skank,” he mumbled as he set about loading the grinder with the marijuana.

There was a small scuffling before the waiter was parking himself between the siblings and grinning, “This is the kind of party I wanna’ be waiting on,” he grinned around his near-complete cigarette; “North Side kids gone wild!”

Not even half a joint in, Mandy, the lightweight that she was, managed to fall asleep, her head perched on her brother’s tuxedo jacket. It left Mickey and the waiter (who had introduced himself as Ian) passing the joint back and forth as they lay back and stared up at the night sky.

“Never see it like this in the city,” Mickey mumbled as he extended his arm to the boy beside him.

Ian hummed lightly before releasing the smoke he had held deep, “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s why I end my shifts up here; nicer than going home.”

“And here I thought you stayed to allow those queueing guys to jerk your junk,” Mickey felt a blush run up his face once the words had left his mouth.

“That’s at my weekend job,” the boy responded, providing no further explanation and no willingness to give one. “Besides, is there really a queue if there’s only one guy?” Ian had leant himself up on one arm to look down at a glassy-eyed Mickey, a raised eyebrow accompanied by a lopsided grin.

 _Oh, this guy is smooth_ , Mickey thought to himself as he bit on his lower lip. He watched in awe as the beautiful boy took a long drag on the blazing joint and holding it before leaning close to him. Unable to move, Mickey remained stock still as Ian leaned in and put a hand on his jaw, gently prompting his lips to part. Ian’s lips felt warm against Mickey’s own as he pressed against them to exhale in to his mouth.

When he pulled away with a curious expression, Ian simply asked: “You don’t shotgun on the North Side?”

“Don’t do anything with a dude when Terry Milkovich is your father,” Mickey uttered as he remained flat against the roof, his eyes staring in to space so as not to meet the attractive waiter’s blown ones.

“Big spender, bigger opinions. We get that a lot,” the ginger boy said as he playfully began to walk his fingers up Mickey’s bicep. The latter didn’t complain or shake him off, he simply nodded in agreement. Ian’s fingers’ ascent to his shoulder was painstakingly slow, and seemed even slower as the digits went up over his Adam’s apple and across his chin to circle about his lips. The smooth, languid movements were gone, replaced by a warm pressure and persistent lips that Mickey head admired earlier on.

The kiss wasn’t long, but long enough for Mickey to be left wanting more when the initiator pulled back and stood up, springing to life. “I’ve gotta’ get going before my sister freaks. Give me your phone.” He left an outstretched hand between them to prompt Mickey to find his phone and quickly unlock it, handing it over. “I’ll text you,” the waiter winked as he handed back the phone and made his descent to the ground.

*** * ***

It was almost painful texting back and forth with Ian. The blatant sexual teasing by means of over-narrating certain aspects of his life that would get Mickey flustered and uncomfortable meant that he had to constantly separate himself from others when Ian’s name lit his phone up. And his sister was very observant to the fact. She had slept through their flirting and kissing, so she wasn’t aware _who_ was the mystery man unravelling her brother, only that there was one.

Going to the club for their first lesson in throwing knives, there was a small part of Mickey that was excited at the prospect of catching even a glimpse of the beautiful boy. Mickey had to bite back the small pang of sadness when he hadn’t been able to find the ginger waiter as they made their way through the main lounge towards an indoor shooting range that had been set up with a couple of wooden blocks with targets painted on them.

The tall gentleman who had opened the door to them was heavily built and smiling warmly. “Hi, guys, I’m Chet. Nice to meet you, Mister Milkovich, Mickey,” He extended a hand to them in turn to greet each man before gesturing them to a small table. “Each of you pop on a pair of safety glasses for me and pop your knives down.”

Mickey would admit to being slightly distracted by Chet’s physique and the low husk to his tone as he instructed them on the correct stance to use, how to turn their bodies, and the motion to follow with their arms. After forty minutes of not even touching the knives, Chet finally advised them to just pick up the blades and get used to the weight of them, the balance, and the best grip. And, of course, Chet found it necessary to correct Mickey’s grip and make the youngest in the room blush and hold his breath until Chet’s warm skin was no longer on his.

For twenty minutes of the session, Mickey and Terry tried in turn to sink their knives in the block, each receiving feedback from Chet on ways to alter their stance or the point at which they released the knife, and neither of them managed to get the point in the target, and more than half of the time they managed to hit the target with the handle. When Mickey grumbled about the fact to his father, Chet explained, “Guys, I trained marine for ten years, and I can tell you that I have only ever seen _one_ newbie hit the target solidly, and he openly admitted to throwing that thing like a bloody javelin.”

Terry laughed politely, “Ignore Mickey here, he’s generally a quick study with our bonding activities so he’s just feeling a little emasculated.” He clapped Mickey on the shoulder, ignoring the look he received at Mickey’s apparent emasculation.

“I get it. Anyway, I’ll see you guys the same time on Wednesday. Good work!” Chet clapped both Milkovich men on the shoulder warmly before holding the door open for them, smiling as they made their way out.

Sure, texting with Ian was difficult for Mickey, but having to walk past him and seeing the way the green eyes undressed him, the way he bit his lip, and the cheeky wink that he almost missed had he no turned his head back slightly. The warmth that plunged through Mickey stomach and chest almost stopped him dead in his tracks had it not been for the innate fear of Terry Milkovich that kept him walking. By the time Terry and his son had made it to the Range Rover, Mickey’s phone was vibrating in his back pocket. Chancing a look at the message from Ian, he felt his cheeks flushing as he grinned bashfully.

 **Ian (17:34):** _You looked hot as fuck. I’m sure you’d look even hotter being fucked…_

“I know that look,” Terry Milkovich said as he turned out of the club gates, noticing Mickey’s face as he looked right to check the road was clear.

Mickey’s heart dropped in to his stomach.

“Yeah, that’s the look I’d get when I could see your mother passing notes across class to me.” The father chanced a look away from the road to look at his son’s blushing face, “What’s her name?

Shaking his head, Mickey denied, “It’s nothing, no one.”

“Okay, I get it. Not quite serious enough yet to invite her to meet your old man.” The grey-haired man chuckled softly, “I’ll let it go for now then. But… just make sure you’re safe if t becomes more serious.”

“I… sure. Thanks, dad.” And that was the end of it thankfully, allowing Mickey to let out a soft sigh of relief before he responded to Ian’s message.

 **Mickey (17:39):** _Of course you’d think that, checking out my ass as I left ;)_

When he returned to his room after dinner and a shower, he found that a reply from Ian sat on his phone, daring him to retaliate,

 **Ian (19:50):** _I know a good match when I see one_

**Ian (19:51): *PICTURE MESSAGE***

_Holy fucking shit!_ The dude’s dick was huge and fucking glorious. Mickey’s cock throbbed beneath the towel that was wrapped about his waist.

 **Mickey (19:53):** _Hot damn!_

 **Ian (19: 53):** _You like?_

 _This fucking guy! He knows he’s hot as hell and he’s just fishing for compliments!_ He scrolled up to enlarge the picture and quickly walked to lock his door before laying back on his bed and allowing his hand to creep beneath the damp towel. He stroked himself to full hardness, licking his lips as he stared at Ian’s cock and thought of the kiss that they had shared a little over a week ago.

It felt almost criminal to be sending a picture of his junk to anyone, let alone to another guy. But it also felt hot and wild at the same time. Ian’s response to the picture had Mickey twitching eagerly.

 **Ian (20:00):** _I can almost taste you…_

 **Ian (20:01):** _I want to taste you!_

Never had Mickey had anybody flirt with him like Ian did. Sure, girls had tried to get with him during school, but there was zero dick-sponse to any boob picture he had received or any girl’s flirtatious touching like there was now.

 **Mickey (20:01):** _You’re the worst!_

 **Ian (20:02):** _Why? Too hot to handle?_

His cheeks burned with embarrassment. The question was so brazen and confident; it was crazy attractive.

 **Mickey (20:02):** _Bitch, Mickey Milkovich can handle anything!_

 **Ian (20:03):** _What about talking in the first person?_

 **Ian (20:04):** _Or… my dick in your mouth?_

 **Ian (20:04):** _Think you can handle that, tough guy?_

Damn. That boy had game as well as girth! Mickey had to put his phone down for a moment to cover his embarrassingly flushed face and cheesy grin with his hands, taking a few measured breaths.

 **Mickey (20:06):** _Did you not get my last message? Mickey Milkovich can handle fucking anything!_

 **Ian (20:07):** _Can you handle getting to 2119 N. Wallace, South Side in 20 minutes?_

 **Mickey (20:08):** _Mickey Milkovich can handle ANYTHING!_

And with that, Mickey was up and drying his hair, willing his cock to soften enough that his pants would fit comfortably as he pulled on a pair of black Calvin Kleins that he knew made his ass look amazing. He praised whatever deities were listening as his hair sat perfectly on the first attempt, grinning as he quickly pulled on some dark jeans and a crisp white t-shirt that almost managed to make his skin look somewhat tanned.

“Where are you going, son?” Terry Milkovich’s voice carried through from his study, the door barely ajar. Barely making a noise, Mickey had crept down the stairs in full stealth mode, but he had been betrayed by the obnoxiously loud zipper on his leather bike jacket.

“I… ah… umm…” It felt like he could barely even manage a single syllable, let alone a simple response.

His father managed to read between the lines, though, and laughed warmly, calling out “Be respectful of her, my boy; I raised you proper. And if you’re stopping the night, all I ask is that you let me know so I can lock up for the night.”

A shaky ‘uh-huh’ was all that Terry received in response before Mickey was grabbing his helmet from its place by the front door and running out to the garage. Like a thunderous undertone, Mickey’s heart hammered against his chest for the duration of his journey towards the South Side. He knew he was nearing the South Side address when the calm atmosphere that ebbed and flowed through the Milkoviches’ neighbourhood was replaced with a constant hum of noise that made Mickey feel a little uneasy; gunshots, cars backfiring, arguing, and emergency service sirens echoed around him like a warning for what he was doing.

When he stood outside of the address he was a little taken aback, unsure of whether to go up to the house that looked like it was on its last leg, his phone vibrated from inside his jacket.

 **Ian (20:38):** _It’s been exactly 30 minutes…_

Hitting the dial button, Mickey felt himself grinning as there was barely a ring before Ian was chirping down the phone about him being late, a false chastising behind his tone.

“I’m outside,” Mickey interrupted the warbling boy, a chuckle causing the younger boy to clear his throat and peek out of the front window at Mickey. The line beeped as Ian hung up; the ginger boy opened the front door with a grin on his lips as he descended the steps towards Mickey.

Stopping to admire him, Ian sent Mickey a flirty wink as he teased, “I did always have a crush on Danny Zuko from _Grease_!”

“Ay, leave it out,” Mickey nudged his shoulder against the taller boy’s playfully before he queried the security of his bike out on the front street.

“God, no! Come on, follow me, we’ll put it under the porch,” Ian gestured for the North Sider to follow him as he headed down the side of the Gallagher house, holding open the gate for Mickey to wheel his bike through and place it where instructed. “Now, inside with me. Lip’s at Karen’s so we can steal his room,” Ian was explaining as he traipsed up the wooden steps to let them in to a cluttered, well-used kitchen.

Trying his hardest not to stare, Mickey nodded softly as he took in the laundry chute, the dented dryer, the mismatched tableware that sat on the drainer and a very busy-looking refrigerator.

“I’m sorry, it’s probably not what you’re used to,” Ian spoke softly, though there was no shame behind his words, simply a genuine apology.

A short chuckle. “What I’m used to is a show home. Like, outside of mine and Mandy’s rooms, you would think nobody lived in our house. Honestly, it’s nice to see a house that’s actually welcoming and lived in.” Mickey stopped at the bottom of the staircase out of the kitchen, halted by Ian’s words, “I mean, my dad would never dream of having photos on the fridge or reminders; it’s quaint.”

“If you say so,” Ian hummed before jerking his head for Mickey to follow him up the creaking stairs, and the latter obliged.

As they got upstairs, they bumped in to a brunette girl who was walking around in a bra and knickers as she pulled her hair up high on top of her head. “Jesus, Ian, warn me when you bring a friend home so I can make sure I have clothes on!” Her face was fresh bar some minor eye make-up and lip gloss as she quickly skipped in to a room.

“Sorry, Fi,” Ian called back before trying to shrug Mickey in to Lip’s room. It was strange. The room had a sliding fabric door of sorts, a brightly coloured tallboy, a bed, and a bedside table. That was it. Simple. But the room was far from empty, with clothes, cigarette packets, and college textbooks scattered about the place. Ian grumbled a little when he took in the sight, “I’m sorry, he’s a pig,” he groused as he tried to tidy away some of the belongings.

Before Mickey could get in to the room behind the waiter, the brunette girl was behind him in a form-fitting black dress, asking if someone could zip her up. She smiled her thanks when Mickey instinctively did it, used to having to do the same for his sister.

“Thanks. I’m Fiona, Ian’s older sister,” she wrapped him in a brief hug. Mickey found this strange given she didn’t even know who he was.

“No problem, got my own sister who does exactly the same, right down to the walking around half-naked.” Mickey laughed, ignoring the blush that he had brought to Fiona’s cheeks. “I’m Mickey.”

“Mickey’s a friend from the club,” Ian prompted before standing behind Mickey to look over his shoulder at his sister. “Anyway, you go have fun with Vee – you look beautiful – and I’ll keep an ear out and make sure the kids don’t kill each other.” The siblings exchanged arm smiles before Fiona was scurrying towards the stairs they had come upstairs by. “Sorry about that,” Ian apologised as he ushered Mickey in to the small room and slid the ‘door’ shut behind them.

Only when Ian climbed on to the bed and shuffled towards the side with the window against it did Mickey take in that Ian was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a plain wifebeater that hugged him so deliciously. Mickey shrugged off his heavy, padded leather jacket and popped it against the tallboy along with his boots, before going to sit beside Ian.

“So, where were we?”

The grin on Ian’s lips told Mickey exactly where they were, and he leant forward after a moment of hesitation to press his lips to the grinning ones before him. The pause that Mickey had exercised was not exercised by the ginger boy, instead he reached a large hand up to cradle the back of Mickey’s skull as he deepened the kiss and allowed Mickey to taste the smoke on the younger boy’s tongue. From how quickly Ian’s hands were tracing beneath Mickey’s white t-shirt and across the faint lines of his abs and over his pecs, it was clear that there was no time to waste. Mickey chanced putting his hands on either side of Ian’s slightly stubbly cheeks, unsure of what he should be doing; for the first time in his life, he was hyperconscious of the fact that he had never made out with anyone before. Hell, Ian kissing him on the rooftop the night of his birthday had been his first kiss, and he had simply laid like a sardine and allowed Ian’s ministrations to take place.

Feeling somewhat dejected, the Milkovich boy pulled back with a soft sigh; “I’ve never…”

Ian shook his head softly before moving to brush the course pad of his thumb over Mickey’s lower lip. “It’s fine, I get it.” He sat back slightly to pull the wifebeater off over his head and throw it to the foot of the bed. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can just… explore, I guess, as we kiss if you want.”

The understanding from the younger boy pushed back the embarrassment that Mickey had felt, and he nodded softly as he began to trail his index finger along the grooves and planes of Ian’s incredible physique, his mouth feeling both wet and dry at the same time as he felt blood rush south.

“It shouldn’t be, but just watching you look at me like you are is so hot,” Ian mumbled as he bit his lip, not wanting to interrupt Mickey’s gentle touch. But Mickey’s finger lightly brushing over his nipple, his nail just ever so slightly catching against the nub, had Ian humming out a soft groan. And Mickey, the clever thing that he was, picked up on this and raised his dark eyebrows as he tested the action again. “Nope, no.” Ian laughed before he was pushing Mickey back on to the bed to stop the teasing and resume tasting his minty lips as he pressed in for another warm kiss.

Mickey allowed himself to be absorbed by the warmth of Ian’s lips, the taste of his mouth, and the feel of his strong hands that made the hairs on his body stand on end in his fingers’ wake. Ian playfully pinched at his nipple and pulled away to smirk down at the older boy as he watched his eyes widen at the new touch. He chuckled lowly and gently flicked his nipple before bringing his hand down to stroke at Mickey’s hip, just above the waistband of his pants. As Ian gently ground against his very obviously hard cock, Mickey felt his cheeks flush slightly as a small moan slipped between his lips at the sensation. And that spurred Ian to do it again as he trailed his lips along Mickey’s jaw and down to the juncture where his neck met his shoulder, sucking and nipping at the spot with enthusiasm as Mickey rolled his hips upwards slightly, craving the friction on his cock.

“Needy,” Ian mumbled in to Mickey’s ear as he let his tongue trail down the shell before sucking on his lobe and allowing his teeth to graze against the sensitive skin.

“You’re fucking hot, can’t help it,” Mickey explained before he grasped his fingers in to Ian’s ginger locks and pulled his head closer, catching his lips with his own and kissing him with a hunger and fire that burned in his stomach. His hands went from Mickey’s face to his down his neck and gripped at his broad shoulders, his blunted nails leaving small crescent-shaped indentations as their tongues tangled inquisitively. Unaware of his movements, the inexperienced hands clawed down the freckled back to land at the waistband of his sweatpants, his thumbs slipping beneath it suggestively. “Can I…?” Mickey’s question hung in the air openly as he looked to the boy on top of him with wide, curious eyes, searching the green ones for permission.

Ian caught Mickey’s lower lip between his teeth, tugging softly before whispering hotly, “I’d be insulted if you didn’t!” He was then sitting back on his knees, straddling Mickey’s waist as he said, “But not before you get this off,” pulling at the hem of the white t-shirt, smiling when the boy beneath him sat himself up, allowing his shirt to be pulled over his head and discarded haphazardly.

The dark frown was short-lived, overwritten with a laugh by Ian when Mickey grumbled, “Watch the hair, man. Jeez!”

No words were given, Ian simply raising his eyebrow as he stood up and dropped his sweatpants to the floor, revealing that he had been commando beneath. And if that wasn’t an insanely huge turn-on for Mickey; his cock twitched with want in his jeans. Mickey had moved himself to set at the edge of the bed, looking at Ian’s cock. Aside from porn, it was the only time Mickey had seen a cock that wasn’t his own, and it was a milestone for him.

“You can. Touch it, I mean. If you want to.” Ian explained as he watched Mickey admiring him. “You don’t have to do anything… but, I mean, if you’re curious you know?”

If he had been a fly on the wall, he would have been laughing his ass off as he watched himself; he moved his hand forward to reach Ian’s cock, and then backed away in worry, and then tried again with no avail.

“I jerk mine just like you do,” Ian spoke with a soft affection, reaching down to pump his cock a couple times, “See, it doesn’t bite.” He giggled softly as Mickey flipped him off. Nodding anxiously, Mickey reached out again, not chickening out this time, and loosely wrapped his hand around Ian’s impressive length. “It’s not gonna’ break, Mickey. It’s honestly just like yours.” Ian’s hand rested over Mickey’s, tightening the older boy’s grip and slowly moving it up and down his cock.

When he removed his hand and Mickey continued at the pace he had set, Ian hummed his approval, “Mmm, there’s a good boy,” running a hand through Mickey’s hair encouragingly.

It felt strange to be doing this to someone else, but equally it felt empowering, liberating. And Ian’s hands in his hair, on his face – just touching him – gave Mickey a surge of bravery and confidence that saw him increasing the speed of his hand, even braving a twist of his wrist that had Ian tugging hard on the hair he had been holding. And if Mickey didn’t fucking love that. He had always seen hair-pulling a girly thing, but it felt amazing in the moment, and pulled a low moan from low in his throat.

“Mickey Milkovich likes his hair being pulled,” Ian observed, giving the locks another tug before he put a hand on Mickey’s arm to stop his movements.

“Am… am I doing it wrong?” Mickey looked panicked.

“No. No, no, not at all, it’s just… I can’t do anything when we’re on different levels.” Ian took Mickey’s hands to pull him up to a standing position, kissing the shorter boy, one hand at the nape of his neck, teasing at the short hairs, as the other teasing along his waistband and hesitated at the buttons of his jeans before groping him through them. “Is this okay?” When Mickey hummed in to the kiss, Ian began working on the buttons as the other boy’s returned to working him.

It felt like his heart would explode as Ian’s hand began to pump his aching cock, his lips working their way down his neck, and as he continued south, inhibiting Mickey’s own work, he felt his eyes roll back far enough that they could have never returned to their original position. He knew it was coming as Ian’s lips teased back and forth between his hips and then down his thighs, his hand still working slowly. But when Mickey felt the hot, wet warmth engulf his cock, he thought he might come then and there in one go.

“Hoooooooly _fuck_ , Ian,” Mickey breathed out his head hung back, a hand just resting on Ian’s head, too focused on what his mouth was doing to imagine moving – he was amazed that he was still able to stand, but put that down to Ian’s hands that were kneading at his butt cheeks. “I’m not- I can’t-” All of a sudden, Mickey was choking out his words, patting Ian’s head, “I’m gonna’ come.” Ian’s hands disappeared from his rear, leaving it feeling naked, and one came to shoo away his own tapping hand, instead opting to stare up with hooded eyes, watching as Mickey came undone with a gentle roll of his balls and a firm lick over his slit.

The thought of it had always disgusted him; why would someone want to swallow another person’s cum? But as Ian did it, there wasn’t a negative expression, instead one of lust and want stared back at him.

“Mmm,” Ian wiped at the corner of his lips with his thumb before standing and giving Mickey’s bare backside a short, sharp slap that rang out between them. “You taste good.” Mickey finally allowed his legs to give in, and felt the mattress hit the back of his knees. “Oh, shit, are you okay?” Ian’s concerns subsided when he saw the blissful look on the Milkovich boy’s face.

“I want the mouth of angels, too,” Mickey mumbled out from where he lay on the bed, as though on a high from the euphoria that had flooded his body moments before.

In no time at all, Ian was on top of him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips and saying “You already do, but I can definitely teach you to blow like a pro.” He laughed at the slight grimace that had crossed Mickey’s lips, obviously grossed out by the fact that Ian had just kissed him after swallowing his load. “Also teach you that cum isn’t as bad as you initially think it is.” He winked cheekily before climbing off of Mickey to pull his sweatpants on.

*** * ***

It had been two weeks since Mickey had first gone to the Gallagher home. The pair had continued to text and share fleeting looks through the crowds of the country club, with Mickey going to Ian’s another half a dozen times since and learning all of Ian’s ‘secret tricks,’ as he called them, to give the perfect blowjob. The praise he regularly received from Ian whenever he did anything sexual to him always made Mickey’s inside warm and fluttery, but when he gave his first blowjob, pulling off to finish the waiter with his hand when he was painfully close, Mickey had felt like Ian’s eyes bore in to him with a warmth and affection that outweighed all of the compliments and reassurance he regularly offered.

 **Mickey (15:45):** _Think you could come to the club off the clock for an hour one day? I want to show you something!_

 **Ian (16:23):** _Sure – I can do Friday afternoon before I have the evening shift!_

Two days later, Mickey sat the bar in the club, nursing a coke as he waited for Ian to arrive. He was thankful that Ian knew to be subtle, not arriving in his uniform, remembering that Mickey’s father and associates of the older Milkovich also attended the club. The pair had offered soft smiles to the other before Mickey had drained his glass and stood up, jerking his head for Ian to follow him as he took them to the room that Chet, Terry and him had practised in regularly over the past couple of weeks.

“What is this?” Ian asked when they walked in to the room with the wooden targets and safety glasses waiting readily.

Mickey smiled coyly, handing Ian a pair of glasses to put on before doing so himself. He then pulled the case that housed his throwing knives from the deep inner pocket of his motorbike jacket and placed it on the small table before shrugging his jacket off beside the table. “You showed me how to do something, figured I’d return the favour.”

Ian’s face was perplexed, the look not vanishing fully even when the dark-haired boy opened the black box to reveal the two silver blades. “Wha-” Ian was silenced by Mickey pressing a hand on his chest lightly to get him to step back, and then he simply watched as the older boy took one of the knives, held it over his shoulder, and in one fluid movement had the knife hurtling towards the target and sticking in to the wood firmly.

Mickey had made sure that he hit the wood and stayed there almost every time before he had even considered showing Ian his weird hobby. He and Chet had made a lot of progress, his father reminding the instructor each session that he had said his son was a quick study. But even with his previous success, Mickey still worried that the one time he _needed_ to land the throw that it would fail. His heart began to settle though when he saw that the blade did not clatter to the floor.

When he turned around, Mickey was met with questioning eyes and a mouth slightly agape.

“My dad taught me to throw knives to make me less gay. Now I know how to suck dick and throw knives.” Mickey stated, offering a half-smile and a single chuckle.

“That’s really fucking hot,” Ian told the shorter boy before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead and scruff his hair. “Now show me!”


End file.
